


Checkmate

by catastropheprone



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Stranger Things (TV 2016), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood Magic, Crushes, F/M, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Fourth of July, Haemokinesis, Heavy Angst, Mind-erasure, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slushies, Stranger Things AU, Underage Smoking, besides wilbur x oc, doesnt really exactly follow st3 plot, george has ptsd from the upside down, george is gay, newsboy big q!!!, no beta we die like tubbo in the festival, no romantic relationships, russian spies, stranger things 3 to be exact, techno is a police explorer for the sake of the plot, the mind flayer is called eret, they're minors in this story so like don't ship, tommy is mike, tubbo has telekinesis, tubbo is eleven
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27513163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catastropheprone/pseuds/catastropheprone
Summary: The summer of 85' was supposed to be a break for certain citizens of Manberg, New Jersey. But they never get a break, do they? Soon enough, Russian spies are infiltrating the new mall in town and a group of teenagers has until the Fourth of July to stop all the madness.--i'm bad at summaries i know D:
Relationships: (slight) Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound, Clay | Dream & Everyone, Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Dave | Technoblade & Toby Smith | Tubbo & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, GeorgeNotFound & Everyone, GeorgeNotFound & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs & Everyone, Sapnap & Everyone, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Everyone, Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Everyone, TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF) & Original Character(s), Wilbur Soot & Everyone, Wilbur Soot/Original Female Character(s), that's it - Relationship
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	1. One | Jobs.

POTAIPOG, RUSSIA. MARCH, 1985

  
  


"YOU MUST LEARN TO BLEND IN," the gruff soldier instructed in Russian. He took steps around the chair that a girl, who in the eyes of the Soviets, was not even close to being a woman, sat in. It was day three of training, the two other days were about reviewing and reciting oaths, and she was tired. But she couldn't let the Admiral know, or else she'd be punished and thrown into jail for some made-up reason. That's what always happened to the agents in training. One sign of weakness and no one ever saw you again.

There were tales and myths about where the trainees went for their punishments. Obviously, it was jail, a penitentiary, but no one knew what the punishments were. Kids in the villages made up stories to tell their friends, letting their imaginations run wild in these tales. One tale was that they sent the trainee to hell, using witchcraft and portals, another was that they kept a monster in the dungeons that supposedly are located under the penitentiary, and they'd feed the trainees to the monster, having them die a brutal and sad death. The young girl didn't want her life to end like that, to die in such vain.

"Isn't that the same as hiding?" she asks timidly, which was a mistake.

The soldier glares at her, veins sticking out of his neck, and gets in her face. "Red Squad does not hide! You think you're so smart, don't you? Not smart enough to realize I'm throwing your ass in the penitentiary, feeding you to the dragon. Ask one more dumb question, you stupid bitch, and you'll regret everything." his gaze was still sharp and her heart rate was growing faster. Tiny dots of saliva covered the center of her face, which she found some humor in, but she was still scared shitless.

"Ahem," a voice cleared their throat. A woman stood in the doorway of the room, her hands held behind her back, standing and waiting with great posture. The Admiral and the girl both looked her way, concern filling their expressions. "Mr. Schlatt, I believe I'm relieving you of your duties with Miss Petrova for now."

"Excuse me?" the two beings in the room spoke.

"Yes, you heard me correctly. Mr. Schlatt, you are being dismissed." the woman looked impatient, her head tilted to the side, waiting for the man's reaction.

"This is preposterous!" Schlatt shouts. His face is beet red, his face and patchy beard are covered in stress sweat, and his hands are in fists to his side, hollering like a child throwing a temper tantrum. "Who the hell do you think you are, lady?"

The woman forces a smile and manages to stay calm throughout all of this. "I'm your commanding officer, Admiral, and I advise you to do what I say, unless, you'd perhaps want to join all those other trainees in the graveyard." Schlatt’s expression relaxes, and his eyebrows rise soon after. He's filled with embarrassment, and walks out of the room, muttering a string of curse words and complaints.

The Petrova girl turns her head to look at the woman who is closing the door, leaving the two females isolated and with one another. The woman sticks out her hand for the girl to shake, and she does so and retreats her hand tentatively.

"Victoria, right?" the woman asks. To be fair, she doesn't look much older than the girl and doesn't seem as commanding as Schlatt was. Victoria nods her heads quickly, staying in her metal chair, lips pursed together tightly. The woman flashes a genuine smile before saying, "My name is Niki."

"Is that your last name?" Victoria mutters.

Niki shakes her head. "No, it's my first name. My last name is Nihachu," Victoria raises a brow. She wondered why Niki seemed so laid back compared to the other commanders. She had this comforting presence, one that Victoria seemed to trust in the two minutes she'd known Niki. "I don't do titles or last names. I want to build a relationship with my trainees, let us trust one another. I think of them as my equal."

Victoria chuckles. "But you seemed,  _ I don't want to be rude or anything _ , but you seemed bossy around Schlatt."

"Ah," Niki sighs. She lets out a laugh and sighs. "That's because the Admiral is an asshole, and he wouldn't listen to me unless I let him know I control him." Victoria nods her head in agreement. Schlatt was a total psychopath. He broke down trainees and sent them to the hell hole. Any trainee who survived him came out an emotionless machine, merely a descendant of his kind. It amazed Victoria, how these young, hopeful souls don't realize what they're getting into. They aren't who they once were when they enter the Russian Army. Victoria was just like them too. But she hadn't lost hope. Not yet. With Niki mentoring her, it seemed like it would be impossible to lose hope.

\--

The two females eventually left the room after about an hour of small talk, continuing the conversation as they walked down the corridors of the training grounds. Laughs fell out of their mouths every once in a while, but Niki told a joke about Schlatt’s mutton-chops sending Victoria on a highway of laughter and humor bursts, earning glares from some soldiers and Admirals. They both rolled their eyes at their reactions and continued with their chat.

The friendly banter ended when they reached a certain room. Victoria had rarely ever seen this room, not knowing if she'd be needed there. It was the fitting rooms for uniforms and other clothing needed either on missions or off duty. There were three women working on various pieces of clothing. Hats, jackets, and pants were being sewn and stitched.

"Miss Imane?" Niki calls out to one of the seamstresses. A woman with brown hair which was permed and teased into perfection walked up to the two figures in the doorway.

"Hi, Niki. What will you need of my services today?" her voice is laced with gentleness and her eyes are relaxed. But you can tell she's tired by the bags under her eyes and her constant sighing.

"Well, Miss Imane," Niki shoves Victoria in front of her by her shoulders. Victoria waves slightly, retreating her hand back to her side. "Victoria here needs a new wardrobe for her assignment. She needs to blend in with her environment."

"Any specific trends or garments?"

"Yes. Modern female clothing, preferably something appealing to the teenage eye. But, after all, this is America we're talking about. No need for our outfits." Victoria turns back to face Niki, confusion washing over her features. She shakes her head slightly, raising her hands, shaking them too. "What?" Niki mutters.

"You never told me about this, mission. I have a right to know before anyone else!" Victoria scoffs. Her jaw is clenched, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, holding stress in. Her eyes are glaring at Niki, who doesn't seem to be fazed at all. She's mad, certainly, but realizes she shouldn't be. It was normal for mentors or captains to not tell their spies about upcoming missions, due to the fact they were constantly testing the readiness the spies had. They wanted to make sure they were prepared for emergencies.

"Well, surprise. Seems like I forgot?" Niki chortles as Victoria rolls her eyes, arms crossed.

"How fun."

  
  
  
  


MANBERG, NEW JERSEY. JUNE, 1985

THE SUMMER HAS BROUGHT ON an unbearable heat in the greatly wooded town of Manberg, New Jersey. Though the town isn’t that far from the beaches on the shore, the trees tower over the cul-de-sac neighborhoods where teenagers and small children alike ride their bikes along the road, chasing after their friends and hollering names in the excruciating temperature.

Teenage boys play  _ Commando  _ and  _ Super Mario Bros  _ at home while their mothers and sisters are gone and their fathers are at work. Some are listening to the newest rap and hip-hop hits by LL Cool J and Run-DMC-- that’s if they aren’t prejudiced like many of their parents were. The teen boys all shout profanities at their own groups of friends over video games and stolen issues of  _ Playboy _ from their dads who spent the rest of their 9-to-5 workday in their recliners, drinking a beer.

Teenage girls all cluster together at the town pool, eyeing the new lifeguard who’s got one hell of a mullet and a twinkly, yet dark, gaze. Their mothers read the new edition of  _ People  _ magazine, gossiping about how they yearn to look like the faux-blonde Madonna who adorns the front cover. Oh, how they wish they were young again.

In one home, in particular, a son and father against one another. The topic is if the middle son should finally get a job to help assist his single father with the bills, though the truth is covered up by an excuse worded as “taking responsibility like a man.”

“But Dad, it’s my last year as a teenager! Why can’t I just spend my days doing teenager stuff?”

“Because, Wilbur, you’re going to be an adult! You’ve had 5 years to do teenager stuff, now it’s time for you to do adult stuff! It’s time to get off that  _ Gameguy--” _

“Game _ boy!  _ But I use the new NES anyway-”

“Gameboy, NES, I don’t care! It’s time to get off the games and start working! It’s my fault for not having you get a job last year. I was waiting until the new shopping center was finally done.”

Now, this argument seems like a regular family argument. One where the mother would tell the father to calm down, yet agreed with him and the teenager wouldn’t be spared. But the thing is, there is no mother to calm down the argument. Phil Soot was already the calmest parent in the neighborhood, and he rarely ever raised his voice at his sons. 

An eager Tommy and neutral Techno sit at the dinner table next to one another as they witness Wilbur’s teen angst unfold in front of their father.

“That’s right, Dad! You tell him!” the 15-year-old exclaims, kicking his feet and clapping loudly.

“Shut the fuck up, won’t you?” says Wilbur, flipping his brother off. Techno, the eldest brother, lets out a dry chuckle. Why was his name Techno? Well, he worked at the local RadioShack and built an IBM computer out of spare parts in about a month, which gave him the name Techno-- no one was to know his real name besides his brothers and father.

“Wilbur, you are getting an application for a store at that mall, or else I’m taking away the goddamn video games-- and the car keys!” Wilbur huffs in defeat. He’s going to have to work this summer, whether he likes it or not. There was no way he could survive doing nothing all day.

“Fine, I’ll get a stupid job,” he mutters. “You win.” The tall and lanky brunette runs upstairs to his room, slamming the door and instantly grabbing his Walkman and headphones, inserting his cassette of “Talking Heads ‘77” and began to listen to the album.

Downstairs, a distressed Phil rubs his forehead and walks off into the kitchen, grabbing the phone from off the wall. “I’m ordering pizza for dinner,” he says to his two other sons.

“I’m not eating dinner here tonight, I’m meeting up with George and the other guys. We’re gonna eat at his place, his mom invited the friend group to stay over.”

Phil clears his throat as he dials the number of Pizza Palace. “Uh, alright, that’s fine by me. But I don’t want you over at the mall without my permission, young man.”

Tommy shoots finger guns at his father before getting up, giving his oldest brother a small head nod, and rushes out of the door. Tommy grabs his red bike from the driveway and begins to peddle over to George’s house, anticipating to hang out with his friends.

Tommy met George first out of all their friends. George’s mom used to be friends with Tommy’s mom-- that is until she passed away in ‘81. George and Tommy had play-dates all the time together as their moms would sip wine together and watched  _ Charlie’s Angels  _ on the television. When Tommy and George entered the second grade, they had met both Karl and Nick and created a friend group with them.

When the four boys had entered the 7th Grade, they met the mysterious Tubbo, who’s real name was Toby, but Tubbo hadn’t really spoken at all. Tubbo wasn’t like the other kids they went to school with. In fact, he wasn’t like anyone in the neighborhood. Tubbo was  _ special,  _ and on a dark and stormy night, they took the brunette in and snuck him into Tommy’s house, hiding him in the basement.

Flash forward two years later, and Tubbo has joined their friend group as well, but also took on the role of Tommy’s bestest friend out of all of them. It was no longer George and Tommy, but Tommy and Tubbo.

But then, Clay joined the group after moving from North Carolina, his older brother Eret coming along with him. He was too cool for them, though. He was the new lifeguard at the town pool. Yeah,  _ that lifeguard.  _ Clay began hanging out with them and this summer, he got even closer to Tubbo after the two of them bonded so suddenly. Tommy had to admit, he was a little jealous of the two of them being so close. Tubbo was his best friend.

Once Tommy arrives at George’s house, he spots Nick arriving there as well and gives a fist bump to his friend. “Hey, what’s up Firestarter?”

“It was  _ one time  _ I set my sister’s dolls on fire. Once!”

“Whatever you say, big man. Come on, I’m sure the other guys are waiting for us.”


	2. Two | Ice Cream and Pasta.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something about the girl at the Baskin Robins that intrigues Wilbur. Karl has a radio system, and Ms. Davidson makes some damn good pasta.

ONE.

ICE CREAM AND PASTA.

DREAM MALL, MANBERG, NEW JERSEY, 1985.

Wilbur Soot wasn’t one to voluntarily take on many responsibilities, he was usually roped into things. Before Fundy moved to Manberg, Wilbur was a heartthrob. The girls thought he looked like Johhny Depp from the horror movie  _ Nightmare on Elm Street  _ and said his voice reminded them of George Michael from  _ Wham!  _ a popular music duo. Sure, Wilbur could play the guitar quite nicely, he was tall enough to dunk on people in basketball, and every time he looked in the mirror he did end up seeing more Johnny Depp in him, but was that all people liked him for? Were their opinions that materialistic?

They were, indeed, because as soon as the redhead with a kickass mullet walked through the doors of Manberg High, everyone soon migrated over to his presence. Fundy was cool, and they were  _ hot.  _ Hotter than Wilbur ever thought he was himself. He’d hear the gossip in the hallways, such as: “Did you meet Fundy? He’s  _ so liberal  _ and cool! He’s so hot!” 

Wilbur was liberal too. Why was Fundy better than Wilbur, the literal King of Manberg High? So, Fundy had a mullet, what’s so cool about that? Fundy smoked a lot, what’s cool about lung cancer? Fundy wore sunglasses all the time, what’s cool about that?  _ Apparently everything _ , Wilbur had learned. He just wanted someone to like him for who he was, not what he looked like or sounded like. He wanted people to like him for him.

Of course, never in a million years would Wilbur want to spend his last year as a teenager working at a stupid mall, serving middle-aged women and children in middle school. But here he is, standing in front of the silly little Baskin Robbins, preparing to order an ice-cream and subtly ask for a job interview.

A tanner dark-haired girl is standing behind the counter, wiping up whatever ice cream had dropped on the counter with a rag and plastic spray bottle. Strands of her short hair fell in the front of her face, and although Wilbur doesn’t know her name, she’s already hella rad. She finally turns around and Wilbur looks to her chest for her nametag-- not her breasts.  _ Victoria,  _ it reads.

“Hi, my name is Victoria, welcome to Baskin Robbins, what can I get you?” There is absolutely no inflection in her voice, and Wilbur concludes that she, as well, had probably been forced by her parents to get a job here at the Baskin Robbins.

“Hey, uh, can I try out the  _ Campfire S'mores  _ ice cream, please?” Wilbur has a slight smile on his face, but Victoria just rolls her eyes and grabs a sample spoon from the plastic bucket.

“This is your only sample, just so you know. I’ve had too many rabid children trying to get more.” Her gaze wanders over to the left, where a small girl with blonde hair and purple streaks comes running over. She’s got white sunglasses and overalls on, covering a yellow striped shirt. “Like this one…”

“Hey, ice cream girl! Can I try the  _ Apple Pie? _ I’ve never been here before.” She’s got a malicious but innocent smirk on her face.

“How many times do I have to tell you no? I can call my boss and get you banned from here, y’know?”

Minx starts to intensely glare at Victoria and crosses her arms. Wilbur lets out a dry laugh. She turns to Wilbur and instantly recognizes him. “Wilbur? The hell are you doing here, shithead?”

“None of your business, gremlin-child! Hey, I'll give you 5 bucks if you get lost and stop bothering this girl."

Minx thinks for a moment, tapping her pale chin before sticking her hand out in front of her. Wilbur places the money in her hands and she quickly runs away, heading into a random store to terrorize more workers.

"You know her?" Victoria asks.

"Yeah, uh, her brother is best friends with mine. Anyway, I was just wondering if you guys had any positions for hire? It's fine if you don't, but-"

"-You're hired. The ladies are definitely going to come running over for a himbo."

"Are you calling me attractive?"

Victoria scoffs at Wilbur. "Please, don't flatter yourself, asshole."

\--

DAVIDSON RESIDENCE, MANBERG, NEW JERSEY, 1985

Tommy and Nick rushed into George’s house, giving a wave to George’s mother, then ran downstairs into the basement where Karl and George were busy talking about Star Trek and whatnot while munching on potato chips and drinking Cokes. George was currently ranting about how Worf had the right to ignore Ezri since she was no longer Jadzia (the show confused Karl as much as it may confuse you,) and the light-brown-haired boy drew out a string of  _ mhm, George _ 's and constant  _ wow _ 's. It took a bit for George to realize Karl wasn't actually listening and even longer to realize that Tommy and Nick were snickering on the steps of the basement.

George runs a hand through his hair. "Will you idiots shut up? I'm explaining why I'm right, and since Karl isn't listening, I want either one of you to listen."

Tommy and Nick knew better than to say no to George. The brunette wasn't exactly controlling or manipulative, he was just  _ sensitive. _ And not the type of sensitivity where someone would tell him to "man up," the boy had two years’ worth of trauma from being gone for so long, and whenever someone were to deny him something or ignore him, the poor boy would start panicking.

"Not it, bitch boy! You can take this little fucker Nick to be your audience today."

“Don’t worry, George. I was going to volunteer anyway.” Nick took a seat on the couch next to Karl and the two fist-bumped each other before George went back into his ranting.

Footsteps were heard from the stairs and soon enough, a blonde Ms. Davidson came walking down with a bunch of soda cans in her hand.

“Hey there, fellas! I bought down some more drinks for you all-- don’t forget to drink water at dinner, though! I, uh, came down here to ask what you all wanted to eat?”

“Oh, what’s up Ms. Davidson!”

The blonde laughed and waved her hand at Nick. “Hello, Nick. And remember, you can call me  _ Niki,  _ Ms. Davidson is too formal at this point in time,” She said to the raven-haired kid.

(Although it was sort of a half-lie, none of the teenagers knew that at this point, not even George.)

“Mom, how about some regular pasta?” George asked, getting some positive reactions from the boys in the room.

“Alright, pasta it is!” She says, beginning to walk back upstairs. “Oh! Wait, is Clay or Tubbo coming over?”

Tommy groaned and rolled his eyes. “Ugh, no. They decided to hang out without us. Something about bonding or whatever.”

Niki nodded her head and headed back upstairs to the kitchen.

Karl walked over to the television and opened up the cabinet. “Guys, since Tommy and Nick are here now, I have something super cool to show you all.” He pulls out some sort of radio system.  _ Karl’s always been good with technology, _ they all think. “I learned about this from Techno,” 

~~ (Tommy rolls his eyes at the mention of the name of his oldest brother. ) ~~

“And I thought, ‘Hey. Why don’t I try and spy on everyone in the neighborhood?’”

Tommy furrowed his brows. “How will you do that, Karl?”

Karl smiles, as if he was waiting for someone to ask him, and begins to explain to them how he changed frequencies and matched it to the phones in the neighborhood, and blah, blah, blah. “Wanna try it out? I guarantee you we can see what that weird kid Connor is doing.” The boys nod their heads in agreement, George’s tangent long forgotten and huddled around the brunette. The system begins to emit a high-pitched whine and static, making all the teenagers cover their ears. Karl fiddles with some dials and buttons and the static begins to calm down. There’s nothing for a while until suddenly a foreign language is spoken, a woman with an accent is heard from the system, but as quick as she is heard, she fades out. Karl takes mental note of it, it sounds like she’s saying  _ my cheek in his nut,  _ and he laughs.

“Hey Karl, I don’t think your radio thing is working. Maybe it’s because my brother is an idiot,” Tommy laughs, patting his friend on the back.

“No, no, I swear I thought I heard something?”

“Probably only you, dude,” Nick says, and George hums in response.

Karl is about to open his mouth until Niki calls out that dinner is ready, and the boys begin to dash upstairs, where Niki’s famous pasta is waiting for them.

“The fuck does ‘my cheek in his nut’ mean?” Karl mutters out loud, soon joining his friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's a bit confusing, Niki is George's mom! How is that possible? We'll see very, very soon. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!


	3. Three | Badlands and Aircrafts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tween is uncertain he'll be alive once he's found-- that is if he even is found. George the Grand didn't fit this shell of a boy. There would be no more games of D&D with his friends. Just this cold, red world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so sorry for how disconnected this chapter is :( i was kind of rushing to get it out, but i am glad i provides a bit of backstory for george! victoria, on the other hand, may not have many flashbacks like this. niki is definitely someone you need to keep an eye on, i'll tell you that for sure!

THE BADLANDS, 1983.

It’s a bone-chilling, frightening, and anxiety-inducing environment for George. The clouds are dark and grey, and vines splatter across the town of Manberg, buildings overrun by the slimy pink plants, and chunks torn out by ungodly creatures. The sky is a tint of scarlet red, resembling a pair of white pants stained with wine.  _ Or blood. _

The wind gusts almost knock the small boy over, though he promptly remembers his mother exclaiming about how tall he had gotten. She must have been lying, because, with every step he takes, George risks falling to the ground. His skinny frame stands no chance against this world. The tween is uncertain he'll be alive once he's found-- that is if he even is found. George the Grand didn't fit this shell of a boy. There would be no more games of D&D with his friends. Just this cold, red world.

He didn't know how he ended up here. He came home from Tommy's and once he had gotten home, he sensed a presence that could in no way, shape, or form, could have been his mother. Maybe, if he had just gone with his half-brother Alex to go take some pictures in the forest, he would have been alright. Sometimes, George hears the voices of his brother and others, calling out for him in hauntingly incoherent sentences. Or, perhaps he’s just going mad.

George knows that this world is a mirror of his own world, seeing as the town he’s in is definitely Manberg. George has previously found his way to  _ El Rapids,  _ a small tent he made with his mother and brother, which was filled with candy wrappers and technology. George  _ has  _ tried to work the radio system to call for help, but knows that’s more of Karl’s thing.

(He misses the brunette, no matter how much Karl annoyed him back home with the work ‘honk.’  _ I’m so honk-ing scared, Karl. _ As if Karl will even hear him.)

He sang  _ Maniac  _ by Michael Sembello into the radio system. He doesn’t know if it was just to think of Alex, or if it was to tell Alex he was there, in the other-world.

The sky rumbles and the dark-brunette begins to feel rain pour down on him, soaking his clothes, making it harder for him to get through the hell-hole he’s trapped in. He quickly looks around for shelter, his eyes finding the Manberg Public Library, which has been almost completely destroyed, only a handful of bookcases somehow still intact.

George wanders into the library, careful not to trip on any vines on the floor, or trip over any dead bodies-- that is if he hasn’t found all of them already. He sets his backpack full of utter shit down on the checkout counter, or, at least what  _ used to be  _ the check-out counter where the kind librarian Mr. Halo used to work. George misses the man’s storytimes he’d hold back in 1980. If only he had gone to one last one before he had decided he was too old, much to his mother’s dismay.

The boy wonders if he’ll ever see her again. Her beautiful face, dusted in light freckles and age lines, her hair soft and comforting, a shield George often used as a child, burying his face into the familiar scent of his mother every time tears had poured down his face. Her hands were calloused much more than the average Manberg mother’s. She worked hard to provide for him after his father left, not even saying goodbye to his son as he stormed out of the house.

George gets overwhelmed by a circus of emotions by just thinking about her. The  _ raven-haired  _ woman who stood at a height of 5'11", who wasn't afraid to kill for her son.  _ Cara Davidson was an amazing mother. _

But George has ripped away from his thoughts when grumbles come from outside of the library.  _ It’s here,  _ he thinks.  _ It’s found me.  _ Trembling in his shoes, George can’t find the strength to run away. Instead, he turns off his flashlight and hopes that whatever will happen to him, will be painless. It probably won’t be.

(But it doesn’t really matter to George anymore. He’s ready. He just wants to be safe.)

(Or dead. But he won’t admit it.)

(Who is there to admit it to?)

-

UNNAMED AIRCRAFT, UNDISCLOSED LOCATION. MARCH, 1984.

Victoria takes a heavy breath as she sits in the plane, her body slightly rocking due to turbulence. She feels the hum of the engine under her feet, and it’s quite unsettling, but Niki will probably help her through it. The raven-haired girl doesn’t wish to bother the sleeping blonde, though. Niki has been kind to her-- too kind for a Red Squad captain. At least she’s no Schlatt. Speaking of the Soviet man, Victoria wants to figure out some of the unnerving man’s backstory. Why is he the way he is? Why is he a member of Red Squad? What was training like for him? But it’s too dangerous to get even remotely close to him, she decides. The man is a ticking time bomb; cutting the wrong wire leads to an explosion.

(And most likely death)

(Victoria shudders at the thought of being murdered by him, and wonders if he’s even killed anyone before. She decides yes, he has. Now she just wants to know how many people he has killed.)

  
  


The Petrova girl looks around the aircraft. There are only two guns on the interior shells of the plane. Big, large, metal crates slightly slide on the floor, making unpleasant sounds every time they move. They have the words  _ Silver Disc Music  _ on the sides. To what level of importance do music discs even hold to Victoria’s mission? Victoria evaluates it as just a guise for whatever is actually in those boxes.

“Captain Nihachu, we are approaching the destination. Please inform your passenger,” a voice says from the intercoms.

Victoria reaches over to Niki and taps her on the knee, causing the blonde to stir awake. “Niki,” she says gently. “We’re approaching the destination.”

Niki nods and gives a sleepy smile to Victoria. “Thank you, Miss Petrova.” She rubs her eyes and yawns quietly, arms pushed out as she stretches. She’s dressed in clothes that resemble an American mother’s, or at least what Victoria assumes is American mother fashion. Niki’s mission file falls to the floor without the blonde noticing, leaving Victoria to scan the file. She sees some strange words, such as ‘mens deleo,’ and the words ‘vim sanguinis’ next to her very own name. It’s most likely Latin, something she’ll have to learn once she settles into America. She’ll brush it off as a pastime.

Niki catches Victoria looking at her file and swoops it up from the floor, tucking the file underneath her legs and sending Victoria a smile from where she sat.

Victoria looks to her side and opens up her own mission file. The papers are encased in a leather portfolio as opposed to a manilla folder.

  
  
  


OBJECTIVE: Kill all known comrades of Toby Smith, AKA Patient Two.

Infiltrate town of Manberg, New Jersey, USA.

MISSION ASSIGNED TO  ~~ Jonathan Schlatt ~~ ~~,~~ Victoria Petrova, Nikita Nihachu.

( AGENT FILE )

Victoria Petrova

DOB: October 30, 1968

Age: 17

Height: 5’6”

Heritage: Spaniard-Russian

Family: [CLASSIFIED INFORMATION]

Abilities: [REQUEST INFORMATION FROM RED SQUAD SECRETARY. LEVEL 4 REQUIRED.]

Victoria furrowed her eyes at her own file. It was far thinner than Niki’s, held little to no information, and was extremely vague overall. Niki’s, on the other hand, was filled with papers and documents. The raven-haired girl questioned whether or not Niki would share at least a slice of information with her.

Hopefully, she would.


End file.
